Forever Falling
by Anon24
Summary: My attempt at "The Shot in the Dark" fanfic. Enjoy.
1. Brennan 1

I thought that the world was a complicated place. I thought that people were separate units of a thousand of years of evolution and I was supposed to make the world a better place. I get scared sometimes. At first, I didn't think it was fear. I thought it was bravery. I wasn't terrified of the bodies and the pain until I had something to compare it to. It's not rational, but he says that it's okay to be sad. He says that everything happens eventually and there's a time for place for everything. I wonder if I am beginning to believe him.

My office is my sanctuary. I'm alone, save the intern cataloging the last marks found on our victim in the room across the lab. He writes poetry. At first I was surprised, but after he read me his work, I was impressed. Ayn Rand once said that poetry involves the mysteries of the irrational perceived through rational words. She also said that rationality is the recognition of the fact that nothing can alter the truth and nothing can take precedence over that act of perceiving it. I believe it. Evidence is the key. Faith has no proof. He has faith, and he wants me to feel it to, but alas, I have not yet.

I wonder if he's at home right now, with our daughter, wondering where I am. I told him I would be longer than usual. He asked why, and I told him that this case was different to me. I don't know why. These bones intrigued me. He saw nothing different about this victim. Normal man, normal murder, at least for now.

My hair is pulled back, and the intern walks by.

"Why are you staying here so late, Dr. Brennan? You should be home by now."

I smile and reply. "I should say the same to you."

"I have no one to go home to. You have Agent Booth, and your daughter."

I nod and look down. I should be home with my family. Something is keeping me here. I need to look at those bones again.

"I might review the victim's injuries," I said.

"Do you think there's something I missed?" he asked tentatively. Dr. Sweets told me that the interns didn't like being wrong and wanted to impress me. I'm fairly hard to impress, but their work is sensational compared to other labs in the country. I noticed the worry in his voice, and had to assure him that nothing was wrong.

"No, just going to look them over," I said, rather unconvincingly. "Go home."

He smiled and left the office. I put on my lab coat and walked out as well.

* * *

The lab is peaceful at night; sometimes I think I should play music to rid of the loneliness but I'll get distracted. We don't take any risks here. I examine the bones on the table. I see a face on the skull. A male in mid-twenties looks back up at me. His brows are furrowed, like he couldn't understand why someone would want to murder him. _Stop it_, I told myself. He's dead. I might me more tired than I thought. This can wait until tomorrow. I can go home to Booth and Christine and sleep knowing that I am safe, and that everything else can wait until morning. But there's something in the bones that we haven't seen yet. I can feel it. But that makes no sense. You don't feel evidence. You find it.

I pick up the left ulna, studying it carefully. Bones always tell the truth. People lie, but the thing that puts you together will never lie.

I hear a noise behind me. I turn around, wondering who it could be. Booth hasn't called. The security guards won't be here for a while. But wait, why did they leave in the first place? Dr. Hodgins and Angela are long gone, and Cam was sick today.

I remove my gloves and walk outside of the room. Most of the lights are off, and when I turn them on, it's hard for my eyes to adjust quickly.

"Hello?" I ask.

Nothing. No one is here. I'm imagining things. It's been a long day, but I've never heard things that have never been there. I'm not crazy.

But I am exhausted. I take once last glance at the bones and make up my mind that they can wait until tomorrow. I take my hair out and go back to my office to get my jacket and keys. As I turn on the light, I see that something is wrong. The files that I were studying a few minutes ago have disappeared. I look at my watch. _Oh my God._ It's 4:47 in the morning. How long did I look at those bones? I look around the room to find miscellaneous objects out of place. I don't remember falling asleep, and I don't feel drugged, either. No one could have taken those files!

As I'm trying to figure out this puzzle, I hear footsteps behind me. Hopefully it's a guard telling me to go home. I whip my head around, expecting to find a uniformed man coming towards me, but before I see anything, I hear shots go out.

_BANG! BANG!_

I fall to the ground. The footsteps are rapidly leaving, and I hear the door close. I didn't even look at the assailant. Did he even shoot me or was he aiming for something else to scare me off?

_Oh, God._

I look down and there's a puddle of blood growing at my side. I bend over, for the pain is unbearable. My hand is protecting the wound, but something else is bothering me. More blood pours out of my upper chest, near my neck. I have been shot, not only once, but twice. There's not enough pressure I can put on them to save myself. No one is here to save me.

I immediately think of Booth, and Christine. _Please, someone help_, I think. I drag myself across the floor and howl in agony. There's a blanket that I tie over the wound on my side so I can lift my hands up. They're covered in the sticky crimson liquid, and more is coming. I'm going to be sick from the blood I have lost. My hands go back to my clavicle, trying to stop it from up there. There's no use. There's too much blood and not enough time.

I am going to die.


	2. Booth 1

Love isn't a game. It's so much more than that. It's like a beautiful, tragic, war, in which someone finally comes out with a victory. And now, I've finally won. I've finally done something right. I'm the gambler. I take the risks, and I pay the consequences. Only me; no one else deserves to suffer. But Bones, she's different. She's suffered. She knows how it feels. I've been so focused on the future I could have had with girls like Rebecca or Hannah, but she's the one I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with. And I'll love her in 30, or 40, or 50 years, because she deserves that.

But I don't know where she is.

I'm laying on the couch with Christine on my chest. She dozed off a couple hours ago, and I'm not going to bed until Bones comes home. I look down and see this beautiful thing I helped create, and if anything happened to her I'd kill myself. The news is filled with the Connecticut shooting stories: victims, families, heroes. If I sent Christine, or even Parker, to school and they didn't come home...

Bones knows how much I love Christine. I think she cares about that more than she cares if I love her. Right now, her little fists are balled up and her chest steadily moves up and down onto mine.

I don't deserve this.

It's late. She hasn't called. I knew she'd be late, but it's well after midnight. When she was gone, for those three horrid months, I wanted to fall asleep as soon as I could because knew even if she wasn't next to me, she'd be in my dreams.

I rise off the couch, the sleeping girl resting on my shoulder. I take her upstairs to her room, kiss her forehead, and carefully place her in her crib. I watch her sleep. I'm not going to miss out on more of her precious life.

* * *

The phone rings. I hustle to get it before Christine wakes up.

"Hello?"

"Booth? Hey, it's Angela. Is Brennan home yet?"

"No. Was she at the Jeffersonian when you and Hodgins left?"

"Yeah," she says nervously. "I told her I would call her and she's not picking up her cell."

"Okay, calm down, let me try."

I rapidly dialed her number, praying that she would answer. I got her voice mail.

"She's not answering me either, Angela. I tell you what, if I drop Christine by your house I'll go check on her, okay?"

I feel bad about leaving the baby with her so late at night, but Angela was in hysterics.

"Yeah, sweetie. That's fine. Michael Vincent is grumpy so we'll take care of her."

"Okay. I'll be at the house soon alright?"

I almost hung up before I heard my name again.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm worried about her."

I sighed. I can be overprotective, but Angela is over-worrisome.

"She'll be fine. I bet she just fell asleep. I promise."

* * *

After I dropped Christine off, I rushed to get to the lab. I thought about turning my sirens on, but that would indicate that something was wrong. Nothing's wrong.

Not that I know of, anyway.

I turned my radio up loud to blast off my thoughts. Bohemian Rhapsody came on and I immediately hummed along.

_Is this the real life,_  
_Is this just fantasy?_

I pulled into the parking lot and jumped out of the car. It was a cold night, and I only had a black tee and jeans on. There were no guards at the door, which was weird, but I had my gun with me.

Just in case.

I entered, and the lights were on. I saw the remains on the platform but an obvious lack of a forensic anthropologist to identify them.

"Bones?" I cried out.

The lab was silent. I was beginning to feel uneasy. She wasn't in the bone room, she wasn't on the platform; I bet she's in her office.

I slowly walked to the room and I had the feeling that something was wrong. There was a crisp, bitter smell in the air, and I didn't like it. Carefully approaching the entryway, I saw a scene that had confirmed my worst nightmares.

She was lying on the floor; whether she was conscious or not, I couldn't tell, for her eyes were open but she seem paralyzed. Blood was everywhere.

In a matter of seconds, I had comprehended this and jumped down to save her. She was breathing, barely, but she wasn't going to last much longer. Her hands were stained in blood and her face in tears.

"Booth..." she croaked. Even in this drastic state she smiled, knowing that I had come for her.

"Hey, Bones. I've got you baby, it's going to be okay."

She shook her head violently as I put my hands on her chest to apply the pressure. "Side...shot...too...much..."

I looked at her side and found a second hole. She had been shot twice and I wasn't there to save her.

"Bones, look at me. Don't leave me, Bones. I need you. I love you."

She stared at me with empty crystal eyes. She was crying and I laced my fingers with hers, promising her it would be all right. I called 911 and waited.

Then she got worse.

I cradled her in my arms. Blood covered both of our clothes, and she knew she wasn't going to make it.

"Booth."

"Shhh baby, I got you. Temperance, look at me. Bones. Please, baby. Stay with me. I need you, Temperance. Christine needs you. Please stay."

I don't know if I was crying or not but her breathing started to sound rugged and heavy. She grabbed my hand that held her chest, and she held on with what was left of her.

"Don't make me leave."

I stared at her in shock, remembering the last time I had heard those words. She looked up at me and nodded to show that she understood.

"You're not going anywhere, Bones. No one is going to take you from me again."

Now I felt the pain she was in when I was shot. But I took that bullet for her. Now I'm just watching her die.

I pressed myself closer to her, trying to transfer my life into her fragile body .

"I need you, Bones."

She looked up at me, wistful and sad.

"I love you."

She closed her eyes and I began to scream.


	3. Brennan 2

I feel unknown hands touching me. They lift me up at carry me. I don't feel his hands. Where are you when I need you? Be here with me, like I know you will.

I can't see and I am barely breathing. My mind will not allow me to think, but I don't want to leave. I'm not ready. I don't know if I ever will be, now that I have something to live for. I hear static and yells erupting, which damage my remaining senses. A mask is placed on my face, and oxygen begins to fill its way into my lungs. I gasp for breath, and choke on the air.

He grabs my hand, and I feel at home again. His fingers intertwine with mine, and I feel protected at last. I promised myself I would live for him, even though I can't always live for myself. I can taste my tears on my tongue, and his hand unsteadily shakes mine. He's nervous. He's as scared, if not more, than I am. This morning's fight between us haunts me, and I become aware that I might never be able to apologize.

* * *

_"How could you say that?!" he screamed._

_"Because that's what I think!" I cried back._

I held Christine in my arms, close to my chest. "_Why are you even here if you don't care?"_

His arms crossed his chest, and anger flared upon his face. This wasn't supposed to happen; we had our share of arguments in eight years. Punches had been thrown, treatments of silence have occurred, but it should be over by now. We've always moved through it because we need each other. It's not ever going to be any other way. And because we both care, we stopped. He took our daughter and placed her in her seat. He still opened the car door for me, because that's the way he is. But when he dropped me off he didn't even cast me a glance, and drove off. Distraction took over my day, and I didn't want to face my fear by going home. Angela demanded that I tell her what was on my mind whenever I left work. I stayed and worked because that had always been my escape from reality. However, people change and I realized how much I needed him.

And even though he was furious, even though I will never deserve him, he still came for me.

* * *

The sirens scream as I begin to fade away. I don't think I'll live. I can scarcely hear indefinite mumblings of the EMTs, or at least, I hope it's the emergency crew. Booth still holds my hand and I feel his lips on my forehead. "Hang in there," he whispers. I wish I could look up and see his face. The warm, brown eyes would reassure me and attempt to give me faith. Faith doesn't just keep a person alive.

When I told him not to make me leave, I saw pure terror in his eyes. An undeniable fear crossed his face. This couldn't happen to him twice. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he watched me die. He was the kind of person who took blame for everything, and if I died (even if he couldn't prevent it) he would kill himself. Booth always denied guilt when Vincent died, as he should, but that shot was still meant for him. We used to talk about how it could have been one of us. We could have lost each other. When he was "dead" for those two weeks, I didn't know what to feel. Anger? That was my bullet. My death. He shouldn't have stepped in like that, no matter how he felt about me back then. I was furious. Sadness? I just lost my partner; the person I could rely on for everything. Booth was the first person I let myself depend on. He wasn't just always there, he actually cared. Booth listened, no matter what he thought about the topic.

He let me pour myself out to him.

I'm supposed to be strong. I told him after I lost the rest of my imperviousness we could be together. We could finally get a shot. Booth thought I was a fighter, a rebel who ignored feminine stereotypes. I could break a man's hand in a split second. I had an attitude towards others that made no exceptions. I didn't have to be polite and I could speak my mind, even if it meant offending someone else. I don't know if that's why Booth chose me, but he told me he admired me for my strength. But to be honest, I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of waiting and running away. We met; we hated each other. I obsessed myself with work to let myself not _feel _anything, mostly mentally. Later, he wanted to give us a shot; I was too afraid of losing our friendship, so I ran away. And I imagined us together. Happy for a change. I mean, I was always happy with him, but I could release all these built up feelings. Then finally, _finally_, after pain and regret and sadness we got it together. We got a house, became a family. And even after that, I managed to screw it up with Pelant. It was the right thing to run, but it took all of my willpower to be that strong and see Booth suffer for it. Then, we had to wait. We fought for each other. And I'm so sick of fighting, metaphorically speaking. I'm tired of trying to do something right and see people hurt by it. If I die, there's nothing left for me to do.

I think we're at the hospital now. I can feel myself being hoisted up and rushed into the building. Booth is still clutching my hand, and his is bitterly shaking from fright. I wonder where he left Christine. I wonder why he came at all. Obviously, he loves me, and I knew eventually he would come, but let's face it: it's after five in the morning and he had a daughter to watch at home. Maybe he was genuinely worried about me, but I used to stay at the lab all the time. Before we were together.

The doctors start attaching various cords to miscellaneous machines to my body and Booth's grip falls. I can't feel him; I don't know where he is. Shouts and orders make my brain go fuzzy.

God, I've lost a lot of blood.

I can literally feel my life source dripping out of me and seeping into whatever I'm lying on top of. I don't even know how I've made it this far. Two open wounds are much more dangerous than one, especially when they're far apart.

I think my heart has stopped.

I need Booth.

Need Booth.

Booth.


	4. Booth 2

The worst thing about waiting is all the thinking during that time. I didn't want to think, I needed to _know_. All this unwanted time made me reflect on every factor, every memory, and that's the last thing I wanted.

We arrived at the hospital and they took Brennan away. I pushed my way through guards and doctors in order to be with her. They slammed the door and I pounded on the window and screamed. They attached wires and cords to her fragile, lifeless body, and I saw her heart stop.

By this time, the guards had caught up with me and began to take me away. I fought against them; I threw one on the ground and another called for backups. She could not be dead. I struggled and looked up at the screen. No beats were detected in my partner's heart, and I saw doctors frantically trying to bring her back. I stopped fighting and let myself be defeated. A guard shoved me outside, but when I flashed my badge, he reluctantly let me back inside if I promised him not to cause any more trouble.

So I sat in the waiting room and, obviously, waited. And I had all this time to think about everything, and I really didn't want to. Minutes transformed into hours, I just sat, unable to relieve myself of pain and guilt.

A nurse came by me and asked if I could fill out Brennan's information. I stared at the packets of paper and filled each out with the knowledge I had about her. _Any children?_ Yes, it was mine too. _Any signs of depression or symptoms of suicide in the past?_ Wait a second, what kind of hospital asked about things like that? That can't matter now, just keep her alive! I skipped the question and returned the packets to the nurse.

I was exhausted, but didn't plan on sleeping anytime soon. I shifted in my seat and closed my eyes, drowning myself in the barely audible music the room's speaker played. I recognized the song, but it was the last thing I wanted to hear.

_Well, I'm hot blooded, check it and see_

_I got a fever of a hundred and three_

_Come on baby, do you do more than dance?_

_I'm hot blooded, I'm hot blooded_

Honestly, out of all the songs in the world, they choose ours? My memories shift from the explosion that was meant for her to the fun performance on stage to dancing in the kitchen with my family. And then, I let myself remember everything. This isn't some Hollywood flashback to emphasize the drama, but this is real. And I don't want to focus on the past, because I made too many mistakes. But my mind didn't listen and immersed itself in a lifetime of memories.

* * *

We met, we kissed, we hated. And I never stopped thinking about her. When I found out she had returned from Guatemala, I personally made sure I could get a hold of her. And she hated me. She was an ignorant, mean, offensive woman, but she was a lot more than that. And the more we worked, the more we revealed, and the more I learned. I let myself fall in love with her, but I don't know why.

I told her I didn't have reasons for loving her. I just did. And I knew she loved me back, no matter if she wanted to prove it. My biggest responsibility was to take care of her, no matter what the cost. It wasn't in the FBI contract, but we were partners. And every time she got hurt, I blamed myself. Serial killers left their mark in our lives. Epps had mentally destroyed her for a bit, Taffet still caused the both of us nightmares. When Bones was pregnant, I once had to shake her awake to keep from hyperventilating on her own fear. Her eyes opened, face covered in hot, sticky sweat. It didn't matter that the Gravedigger was dead; she had done what she needed to in order to destroy us. Gormogon was a lesser evil, but still cost us an intern, her favorite one ever. Broadsky had released everything we had built up. When I went after him, it wasn't out of anger, or revenge, or to make things even. It was to protect her, because I knew if she hadn't stayed with me that night, he would have taken her also. And I wouldn't allow that.

Then there was Pelant. I don't know what we did to make that son of a bitch hate us, but he ruined everything. I wouldn't let Bones work in the field during the first case, because I realized he was dangerous. He's so much more than that. He's a combination of everything we had ever feared; he had Epps's insane aurora, but he was smart enough to get past the system. He had the Gravedigger's lasting effect, the power to rip apart lifetime bonds. Pelant had Gormogon's secrecy and Broadsky's power to target the ones closest to us. Pelant was the worst, because he came when we finally got things right. And I know why she ran. She doesn't have to apologize for anything. When she left I wasn't even angry at her. I was furious at everyone else, but she did what she had to do to survive. Those three months was the biggest nightmare of my life, because I knew if I couldn't get to her as soon as I could, Pelant would. And he would destroy her.

Ever since she came back, things have been different, whether she wants to admit it or not. Every time I see her, my eyes light up with the realization with the fact that I could have never seen her again. Every time I kiss her, I use enough passion to make it feel like it's our last. And every night, while we're trying to fall asleep, she wraps herself around me so she knows that she is not alone.

* * *

My phone buzzes and I hesitate to answer. I don't want to talk, especially if it's about her. The caller ID tells me that it's Angela, and I feel like I owe her the truth.

"Booth," I say slowly.

"Booth? What's wrong? Where is she? Are you okay?"

"She was shot," I say slowly. "Twice. We're at the hospital. I don't know how she is."

"Oh my God." I hear Angela's frantic breathing take over. "Do you think she'll make it?'

"Yes." Honestly, I have no idea, but I'm not losing faith. I'm never going to give up on her. She has never given up on me. She trusted me enough to rescue her after three months, and she knew I would come after her this morning. Bones lost more blood than I could handle, but she's a fighter.

"Okay, I'm coming over," Angela says. "I'll bring Christine for you."

"All right." I close my phone and sigh. I lean my head on my hands, rub my forehead.

She has to make it.

* * *

Before Angela appeared, another soul made its way to the hospital. I don't know who told him, but Max made his way towards me.

"Where is she?" he demanded. I shrugged and pointed to the surgery room. His eyes grew wide and he turned to look back at me.

"How the hell did she get in there?"

I had no urge to tell Max about his daughter's demise, but he insisted. After I poured out the story, he angrily glared at me.

"So I get a call saying Temperance is in the hospital, no reason whatsoever," he growled. "And you mean to tell me that she's been shot?" I nod and he punches my face. Hard.

"You're supposed to take care of her!" he screamed. "You're supposed to protect her from things like this!"

I was angry. I didn't need anyone else thinking that this was my fault. I put enough blame on myself already. I don't know who contacted Max, but he didn't need to be here and bring me more grief.

"She wouldn't need protecting if she had a father that hadn't left her!" I spat back at him. Bones was my responsibility, and I should take care of her, but her fear for so many years was because of her parents. They had left her; I would never do that. "You abandoned her! You didn't even care, as long as you were safe!"

Max's scowl turned into a flare of fury. "You know why I had to leave, Booth! You're the one that convinced her to trust me again!"

That was true. I understood Max's predicament, and made Bones believe in him again because they both needed that reliance again. But his departure had still caused her pain that I picked piece by piece to make her feel safe again.

"Do you have any idea how she felt in that foster system?" I screamed back. This had nothing to do with what was happening right now. We didn't need to argue about this. But we had started, and we sure as hell weren't going to stop.

He glared at me and sat down. He put his hands to his face. I sat next to him, unable to get rid of the unwanted guilt of the argument. "I shouldn't have brought it up, Max. If she dies, it's my fault."

He turns toward me and sighs. "Booth, we haven't really had the best past."

He's right. I've had to tackle, fight, and arrest him. He beat me in court because of his daughter's love. We've argued, and after he stole my family, I realized how he really was. We're never going to make up our faults. He's never going to be able to trust me entirely, and I won't do the same to him. But we run off of the same fuel, and that's Brennan. We both need her, and love her, and care about her enough to kill and die in order to protect her. And I've often made the comparison that I'm like Max, because I am willing to do that, but I'm not a fugitive. I'm not breaking the law for self-gain.

Max stares at me. "You know why I had to leave her, Booth. You were the first one to understand that. You know why she had to leave you. And even after that, you still feel the same way about her. You'd do anything for her."

"And you would do the same," I bluntly replied.

"Yeah, but it's not the same. I'm her dad; I'm supposed to do that. You would do it for Christine without a doubt."

"I would never leave her," I argued.

"You would if it was for her safety."

"No," I said. I turned to Max and looked him straight in the eyes. "See that's where we're different. I would never leave my daughter behind. Nothing, nothing, will ever cause me to do that. Ever."

He looks at me and sighs. Attempting to get the conversation back on the right track, he brings the focus to Bones. "Do you think she'll make it?"

"I don't know," I replied with all honesty. Angela needed to be reassured, but Max can handle the truth. And if his daughter dies, he won't just blame me (as he should), but rethink everything he has ever done to hurt her.

We sat in silence, thinking. Angela comes in with Christine. I can tell that she has been crying, but there's nothing I can say that will comfort her. She hands me my daughter and sits down on a couch. Not even acknowledging Max, she looks at me fearfully. "How long has she been in there?"

"A few hours." I've lost track of time, and realize it's almost eight in the morning. Angela nods and begins to sob. I rest one hand on her shoulder, cradling my child with the other.

After another hour or so, a doctor appears. "Temperance Brennan?" he calls out to the room. There are a couple other people in the waiting room other than us, and they turn towards me expectantly. I hand Christine to Max and walk up to the doctor and introduce myself.

"Agent Booth, I'm sorry to say your partner is in a fragile state and that is decreasing by the second. Her heart stopped multiple times during the operation to remove the bullets, and she has lost a lot of blood that will almost be impossible to recover. She is in a coma now, and we had to give her an oxygen tank to keep her alive. You don't really have a lot of options, but…"

I rapidly grab his jacket and pin him up against the wall. "Listen, buddy, there's only one option I'm willing to accept, and that's the fact she's going to live. I don't care what you have to do, you keep her alive, you understand?" He nods, but argues, "But there's no chance…"

"Find a way to make it work." I release him and he runs away. He looks back at me, and I swear if he calls security, he'll never hear the end of it.

I return to my seat and ignore the pestering from Angela and Max. I take Christine out of her grandfather's arms. She's tired and begins to cry. I cry with her and hold her close to me. "I know, baby. Shhh, you're okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm always going to take care of you."


	5. Brennan 3

_"Do you believe in fate?"_

_"I know who you are. Hey, I know. It's okay. I know."_

_"I'm with Bones. All the way. Don't doubt it for a second."_

_"That's a lot of heart."_

_"I'm never going to make you fall. I'm always here."_

_"When you talk to older couples who, you know, have been in love for 30 or 40 or 50 years, alright, it's always the guy who says, 'I knew.' I knew. Right from the beginning... I'm that guy. Bones, I'm that guy. I know."_

_"It means you can love a lot of people in this world, but there's only one person you love the most …That person's not going anywhere."_

_"I love you for who you are."_

_"We're more than psychology."_

* * *

Apparently, my active mind is too busy with attempting to survive, so my subconscious decided to take a joyride. I'm falling a hundred miles an hour in a dark misty void that appears to be never ending. I'm like a rag doll; lifeless and easy to bend against the fighting pandemonium. If this is what death feels like, I can honestly say that I never expected it to be like this. I didn't even believe in an afterlife, but pondered on what one could have looked like. A golden kingdom, or maybe just a personal paradise? This is neither, and I keep falling.

The walls are slick and smooth, although they are hard to see. Even if I had the strength it defy gravity (if it even exists in the perilous world), it would be impossible to hang on. I can barely keep my eyes open for the air going against me.

I drop and fall and it seems to go on like this for a very long time. Since I have nothing to do, I start to think about Booth and Christine. If I truly am dead and experiencing the impossible right now, I can't imagine their devastation. It's not really about blame anymore; Booth told me once that he only blames the guy who pulls the trigger. That's a lie if I'm dead. There's no one to blame but the shooter, but everyone will find someone to take the guilt. I wish I saw my assailant, but was put into enough shock not to notice him. I wonder if this how the victims have felt. I took the anthropologist job as a way to bring people back their lives and relieve them of mysteries. When I saw a dead body, I had to make sure that they could so-call "rest in peace" in the fact that they knew their murderer. If no one ever finds mine, I would wander in curiosity forever.

I don't want to die. I want to savor whatever I have left. I want to return to reality where I can be with my friends and family. I never thought I would have either; I was living my lonely, expected life. These people have brought me so far in these years, especially Booth. I've not changed, but adapted to the kind of life I want to live. Booth let me have a family again, and became part of it. He taught me to "evolutionize" myself in such a way I never thought possible. Now I have a friend who means so much to me that he could be my husband without taking the required oaths. Now I have a daughter whom I never want to leave, because I know what it's like not to have a mother when you need one. If I do die, I want her to know that I fought to stay alive for her. I want her to know how much I loved her.

Booth taught me to love. I was scared and embarrassed of my past and shut myself up to relieve of the pain. He came in, and I was exposed to a new feeling that I have never felt before. He told me with love comes suffering, but it's all worth it, and everything around it is worth it. We've suffered for each other, but it's completely worth it knowing that we actually have each other. Too many factors could have caused our demise, and we realize that. We learned not to take things for granted and simply enjoy what we had for the moment. I remind myself of the morning fight between us and realize how foolish it sounds now that we may never see each other again.

I continue to fall, but I'm tired, and I release myself to the chaotic, unknown void, forever falling into the darkness.

* * *

When I wake up, a white light blinds me. My eyes take a moment to adjust, and my mouth drops as I take in the scene before me.

I am in a vast hall; a beautiful realm that spreads its way before me. The walls seemed to be bleached white and lights are sparkling on every surface. I am alone, but there is a bench and mirror nearby that is placed in such a way they seem to blend in with the background. It is truly a magnificent room, a great work of architecture that would be marveled in our modern world. Beams arc around the ceiling like those in a cathedral. The windows are pure and sliver, but when I look out, I see nothing. There is just a continuum of space around this place and I begin to wonder.

I look down and gasp at what I see. I am wearing a white dress that is truly magical. It's made of lace and is sleeves comfortably take shape around my arm. It's simple and plain, but beautiful, with the hem waving itself against the white, marble floor. It's breathtaking, but bothers me in a way I can't understand. I reach up to feel my hair to find that it has transformed from a raggedy mess to wisps of beautiful, brown threads. I can't believe what is happening, and praying that this is only a dream. Magic doesn't exist, and death isn't ready to meet me yet.

I see a figure approaching from the opposite end of the hall. The light makes it hard to see, but I can picture a silhouette of a lean, tall woman. She comes closer and I can see she is wearing a loose white blouse with original jeans. I look up at the woman's face; her hair is dark and her blue-green eyes shimmer in the light. She has a reliving smile and her beauty looks ageless. She seems so familiar, like I have seen her in a faraway dream. I look closer and see a crystal dolphin ring on her right hand. I gawk at her as I begin to recognize my visitor.

"Mom?"

* * *

**_Thank you for anyone who has taken the time to read this! I really appreciate all of your constructive reviews. Please review to let me know what you think. If you haven't already celebrated the arrival of 2013, have a happy New Year!_**


	6. Booth 3

We have been waiting for hours. Some of our friends have come and gone, and the doctors still won't release Brennan to her associates. Max had reluctantly taken Christine home for the night to rest. He had shuffled out of the hospital, mumbling grumpily. Hodgins came earlier in the afternoon; he had brought Angela lunch and consoled with me. Now, he sat in a chair across the room, head tilted up at the ceiling unhappily. I wonder who is taking care of Michael, now that I think about it. Sweets had come with Hodgins, but left due to an appointment. He promised he would return in the morning. Cam was sick, but called to give her condolences. Some interns such as Clark and Wendell decided to stay for a while, but left as the night drew itself in.

I haven't slept in almost two days. I'm so exhausted, but I refuse to give myself up to slumber. My fight against fatigue won't last much longer, and I hope the doctor will come soon. I need to see her. I need to look at her beautiful, peaceful face again. I need to feel that presence of a skeptical yet intelligent woman, the one who I would fight and die for. I need to gaze at her, feeling reassured that she will fight to stay alive. I want to see her eyes flutter open and see a chaotic mess of light and hope that even a cluster of galaxies couldn't compare to. I need to hold her hand, to feel her life vibrate with mine. Hodgins had given me that line, but it was romantic and poetic, and it was true. I could feel her life, her pain, her love every time I touched her. And she had been so broken, so devastated from her past it's a wonder that she's made it this far. But she's strong enough to continue, and I love her for that.

Angela is sitting next to me, her head resting on my shoulder. I doubt Hodgins minds. We're all a little distracted, caught up in the midst of our own thoughts and hopes. We all have a part to play in Bones' life. I'm the partner, the lover, her other half, figuratively speaking. Angela is the best friend, the gossipy and honest one who's always there, but doesn't have to know it all in order to be happy, even if she wants to get that inside scoop. Hodgins is the one who has been there since the beginning; if anyone knows Brennan, he does. He might not live with her like I do or talk to her like Angela does, but he's the one who has seen Bones evolve the most. He's a scientist; he observes things. So, now, when I look at him across the room, he might be feeling the most conflicted due to the fact that he knows the most, and how everything else that has ever happened might all shatter now. Bones once told me what happened between them when they were buried alive during the Gravedigger case years ago. Their friendship is so unique, and they have the credentials to prove it. Here are two scientists, one being rational, the other a conspiracy theorist; however, they can't do their job without the other. In that car they found the belief, _no,_ the faith to beat the odds and survive. And I guess I admire him for that; he's not as strong or as tough as me, but he's sensitive enough to fight against what people expect.

We all have a little rebel inside of us.

* * *

Angela lifts her head up and checks the clock on the nearby wall. She sighs and rubs her head with her hands.

"You can go home if you want," I said solemnly.

"No," she responded fiercely. "I'm not leaving."

She looked at me and studied me; for not being a squint, she was pretty good about drawing conclusions from observations. She was an artist; a mix of a realist and an abstract fantasizer. She had never got used to the deaths or the victims that composed of her career, but used her skills to bring them back to life, and that comforted her.

"You still think this is your fault, don't you?" she whispered.

I shook my head, but she didn't believe it for a second.

"Damn it Booth, stop taking blame for everything that happens to her. Why in the world would this be _your_ fault?"

"I'm her partner; I'm supposed to _be_ there for her. Not at home, waiting for her as she's dying somewhere else."

"Booth, there's only two explanations for what happened last night. Option one: someone had planned to break into the Jeffersonian for a long time. Didn't you say there weren't any security guards?"

I nodded and she continued.

"Well, obviously then someone prearranged a theft or whatever they needed to do; they saw an obstacle in their way who wasn't supposed to be there. They shot her and fled. End of story. Option two: someone from our case is trying to get rid of evidence. A suspect or even the murderer is trying to erase themself from the collection of files we have. It's hard to trace someone like that," she says. "And whether he knew Brennan was going to be there or not he had to destroy whatever evidence linked to him at any possible cost. Killing Brennan would be better for him; without her, it would be pretty hard to solve another murder. So, Booth, this has nothing to do with you. When we find out who tried to murder her, you just kill that son of a bitch okay? That's the way you can honor her and send the message not to ever mess with you two again."

Angela closes her mouth, tired from her speech. She's persuasive, and I guess now that I believe her. There's no reason to be at the Jeffersonian after midnight, but Bones was there. She said the case was different, but still didn't rely on her feelings to tell her why. Stubborn as she is, she stayed at the lab, but she could've done all that work tomorrow. The real reason she stayed was because of our fight, and she didn't want to face me when she returned home. So, technically, this all comes back to me, but I wasn't the one to pull the trigger. Twice.

The doctor suddenly appears. Avoiding my gaze, he rapidly scurries to the nurses' desk, whispering briskly. I see the nurse look at me a couple times during the conversation, and after a few minutes, the doctor leaves. Coward.

The nurse can tell that I've been looking at her, and silently motions for me to go over and talk to her. I get out of my seat, and Angela looks at me quizzically. I smile at her to let her know that everything's fine. At least I hope.

"Agent Booth?" the nurse asks when I arrive.

"Yes?" I mumble.

"Are you the only person here that has a direct relationship with Miss Brennan?"

"_Doctor_ Brennan," I correct her. "And those two over there," I gesture at Hodgins and Angela, "are colleagues and friends, but I'm part of her family."

Which is true, I guess. Not an official family, but we are one, whether it's legally accepted or not. We have a kid. We live and work together. If that's not a family, then I don't know what is.

"Doctor Brennan is still in a coma, and her health isn't improving."

"How much time does she have?" I murmur.

She shrugged. "It's hard to tell, because certain levels of her health keep unbalancing each other out. Variables go up as others go down. It's not healthy, but we are doing all that we can to help her. But I won't bore you with medical terms about what we have done so far. The doctor has allowed you, and only you, to visit her, though. You may be with her during this time."

I look back at Angela and Hodgins, and see a mixture of anticipation and despair on their faces. I silently signal to them, and they can tell that something's going on and I have to leave. I turn to the nurse and say, "Can I see her now?"

The nurse nods and leads me down a long, cold hallway. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I shiver. At night, hospitals are like haunted prisons. The nurse takes me down a few more identically shaped perpendicular corridors, and opens the door to a room that looks like every other. She lets me in and leaves, respecting my privacy.

I look around the room. It's dark, and my eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim light. I can make out a couple machines, both beeping and blinking periodically. I take a few more steps in and see her lying on a bed, serene and lifeless.

Her face is pale. An oxygen tank connects itself through a thin cylinder, which is attached to her nose. She breathes, but barely. It seems like a struggle to her, and as her chest rises, I can almost feel her discomfort. Bandages bound her upper chest and abdomen. A loose gown with ironic purple elephants covered her. I drew up a chair next to her and took her hand. Even if she didn't know I was there, I was going to be there for her. And then I started talking.

I talked about everything on my mind. I talked about our past, how we met, how we developed. I talked about the serial killers who we both still feared for no rational reason. I talked about how we have saved each other before, how she had come to save me from an explosive ship, and how I killed an insane doctor to protect her, even though she was still stabbed. I talked about our past relationships, and how they were a mess; not exactly a rebound from another, but a distraction from each other. I talked about my fears, such as not being able to protect her and Parker and Christine. I talked about how great it was to give in to one another at last, and our family was the most important thing in the world to me. I talked about that crucial night, how she had come in crying out of incomprehension, and we finally understood each other. I talked about Christine and her favorite things and toys, and how we used to dance in the kitchen. I talked about the Jeffersonian team and how we worked better than everyone else because we all do our job well. I talked about the interns and said how much I missed Vincent; even though I claim it's not my fault he's dead, I still feel selfish about what happened afterward. If I had to relive that day, I don't know if I would have died to spare his life or let him suffer so I could have my present future. And the thought disturbs me every day. I talked about my dream when I was in a coma, how everything was upside down, but we were together, so it was alright. I talked about how if she ever forgets who I am, I'll do whatever it takes for her to remember me again. I talked about how when she wakes up, I'll kiss her and smile at her because she's alive. I talked about how everything happens eventually and how we're living proof that fate exists. I talked about how much I love her; it's not lust, or an infatuation, but a desire, a need to be with her and let her know how I feel.

And I held her hand and stroked her hair and told her this along with many other things until the morning came and the earth welcomed the new day.

* * *

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	7. Brennan 4

The woman smiled at me and nodded her head slowly. I gaped at her and didn't say anything, for I was speechless. We stared at each other for a minute, taking in the other's presence. I began to find by voice again, and brought up an irrelevant yet important question.

"Where are we?"

She looked around, like she had just noticed that we were in a continuum of white light. My mother shrugged and turned to me. "Depends who you ask," she says. Her voice is exactly as how I remember it, cool and soothing. It was persuasive, yet peaceful. Someone could disarm an entire army with that kind of voice.

"Well, I'm asking you," I stutter.

She looks around the rooms again, taking in the walls and windows and architecture. I use this time to look at the person who I had not seen in forever. She disappeared when I was fifteen, and I'm, what, thirty six now? Twenty one years I have spent without the presence of my mother, the one who brought me into this world. For the majority of those years I did not know what happened to her, but everything changed when we found her in Limbo. But now, as I gaze at her, I can tell that she has not changed a bit and she, with luck, might be the same person as the one I used to know.

"A young boy was here once and thought that it looked like King's Cross Station in London, but I think it looks like a basilica," she concluded. "What do you think it is?"

I viewed the room and certain details began to pop out. I could see a platform emerging from the ground dozens of meters away, and the spaces the arches created at the floor looked like doorways to various rooms. It looked vaguely familiar, like it was from a dream.

"It looks like the lab," I whispered.

I could see it now. The Jeffersonian was a nice facility, but this depiction was clean and altered in such a way that it captured the true beauty of the essence. It was a faraway image and didn't feel the same as when I work. However, not everyone sees the same even though they are looking at the same thing. The room gave off a glinted glow that gave a warm and inviting impression.

My mother grinned at me, like I had passed a test, but she hadn't my figurative question.

"I mean, where are we?" I asked again. "Am I dead, is this a dream?"

"Again, it depends," she repeated. "Depends if you're ready to give in or going to keep fighting."

There it is again: fighting. Let's fight to stay alive, let's fight to prove my innocence. It would be nice to live centuries ago; if I was a king, I could send people to fight for me at my will. But that wouldn't get rid of my internal conflicts.

"So, this is technically a stage between life and death," my mother simplified for me. "A phase between reality and everything that comes after."

"That's impossible," I whisper, but here I am. I'm looking at my dead mother, and even if this is a dream, it wouldn't make up for certain variables. I looked at her. "Why are you here?"

She smiled, took my hand, and led me over to the nearby bench to sit down. She could see the distress in my face, if my face even portrayed the emotion, anyway. My confusion was intolerable, and I was so lost in my own mind that I didn't know what to think. I looked in the mirror, which showed my mother and me in our simple white garments sitting as if we had nothing else better to do. But the image changed from that to childhood Christmases with Russ to me to going to the library to my parents to solving a murder with Booth to cradling Christine in order for her to fall asleep. The glass goes back to reflecting what's in front of it, and my mother turns to me.

"I've missed you," she says solemnly.

"I know," I admit. "I've missed you too."

"You know why I had to leave now," she observes. "You had to do the same."

And I do know. I know why, thanks to my father and Booth. And I realize how hard the decision was for her when I deserted Booth months ago. But things were still different between the two scenarios, and I was quick to point those out.

"You didn't have to die," I said. "You didn't have to be a criminal at all."

She sighs. "It was my choice, and I made a mistake. Now all I have are regrets. I didn't choose to die, but it was an effect of my selfishness."

Regrets. They had complied themselves one after another in my life, and I'm doing to get rid of them the best I can. Finally being with Booth had got rid of over half of them, but there were still those I couldn't stop thinking about, and I didn't know if anyone could get rid of them. Not even Sweets' methods or Booth's comfort could help me through this, but they tried, and that's what mattered. I don't want any regrets.

But when I left Booth with Christine, it wasn't the same as when my parents had left me. I didn't give Booth a choice, so if something did happen to me, Christine could know that it was my fault, and only my fault. I couldn't leave her with Booth because I couldn't abandon her; likewise, I couldn't tell Booth because that would simply state that he was abandoning her. I couldn't tell Booth so Christine would only blame it on me in the future. It wasn't his fault. My parents had that choice to be criminals, to leave their kids, for their safety, yes, but left those emotional scars that might never be healed. Russ and I were alone, and after he left, I suffered in that system until I could get out. They were the reason I never wanted a family, they were the reason I was doubtful with my social life because I couldn't trust anyone because everyone I had ever trusted had left me. They were the reason I had never wanted kids or to find love because it caused too much pain. But Booth had come in and turned everything upside down, or, rather right side up. He let me trust and love, and he even gave me a family for good measure.

My mother reads my mind. "I like him, you know," she remarks. "Your partner. I watch you two a lot, and he's very nice. He gave you everything I wasn't able to."

I hint a touch of envy in her voice. "Are you jealous of him?" I asked. "Do you ever wish you had what we have?"

"No. My time with your father was the best of my life. But we made the wrong decisions and it came with a cost. You and Booth, though; it's reassuring that I didn't screw everything up when I left," she confessed. "I was worried for a while; you shut everyone out, but when he came in, I knew everything was going to be okay."

That was so completely cliché, but I respected her for her opinion on my partner. "He's very good at taking care of you," she said.

"Yeah. I love him a lot." And I do. And I will, for the rest of my life.

"You have a beautiful daughter."

"I know. She gets it from her grandmother."

She beamed at this, and blushed gently. "I wish I could meet her."

"You will," I say. "Eventually. And when she's old enough, she'll know why she has your name and why you can't be with her. She'll understand, because she's like her dad. He gets things like that," I tell her, "whether it's explained well or not."

We sat in silence for a bit. We don't really want to talk, but we don't want to leave.

"What's it like?" I whispered. "On the other side?"

She looks at me with her sad, blue eyes. "It's peaceful. It's different from everything you think it will be. But it also depends on what you believe in, religiously speaking. The toughest part is watching the separation between people who don't believe the same, because they're going somewhere different. But for people who aren't willing to be separated, exceptions are sometimes made."

So Booth could go to heaven, like he wanted. And I would dissolve into nothingness, like I believed. But we wouldn't be together. But we would be dead, so how could we feel or remember anything? But if we were allowed to feel, to have those emotions, I would miss him. And I would need him. I hope we are considered an exception.

Again, my mother read my mind. "Exceptions come with a price," she explains. "One side must give up something in order to live with the other."

"What would be my price?" I ask.

"I think you know."

And I do, unfortunately. I would finally have to believe that inevitable, unseen things exist. I would have to proclaim my acceptance of faith and fate and whatnot in order to stay with Booth. I might even have to represent the existence of God, but I don't need to think about that right now. I just need to know if I would be able to do that when the time comes. Booth has changed my opinions on many things, but I don't ever want him to think that he's using me for personal converting. I don't think that at all, but if I give in to faith and fate and a soul, I might never be the same person I knew myself as. But not all change is bad, because we're able to learn from everything else.

My mother changes the subject for a hasty moment. "That intern that you like, Vincent. I talk to him frequently. He sends his regards."

So even in the midst of nothingness, we are still able to communicate.

"That's very nice of him."

"He wants me to tell you to tell Booth this," she says, and quotes him. "'It's okay to feel the way you do. My sacrifice was not in vain, and I'm glad something positive came out of it. Stop feeling the guilt and go ahead and live.'"

I stare at her in confusion, but she continues. "I don't know any more about it that you do, but he promised that Booth would understand."

"Okay."

We continue to sit, taking the occasional glance at the mirror. Mother and daughter, reunited at last. Who knew it would be for this reason.

"What should I do?" I ask with all honesty.

She turns to me and strokes my hair like she did when I was a little girl. I think she appreciates that I would consider taking her advice. "I don't know, sweetie. I want you to be with me more than you know, but…"

"I think I need to go back."

"Yes," she says, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks. "I didn't want to leave you, but I know you would never leave your daughter if it was in your control. You still have the rest of your life to live, and it's your choice to go back to reality. It's your decision."

My decision. My life is literally in my own hands. I can leave with my mother and enjoy whatever afterlife becomes apparent to me or go back to the cold, mean world. But in that world I have a family and friends that have grown on me so much I couldn't bear to leave. The three months without them almost ruined me completely; I missed every single one of them, and I had never thought before that people could mean so much to me.

And Booth. I could never die knowing that I had the choice to leave him. He had never given up on me, and I owed him everything I had. Our fight tore us apart for a while, but we're always going to be together because both of us rely on it. And I'm not going to leave him a second earlier than I have to. We have a daughter to take care of and raise _together_, and I'm not missing out on that. And nothing will ever change that.

"I have to go back, Mom," I cry. "I want to stay, but you know I have to go back,"

She smiles at me tearfully. "You were always a fighter, Temperance. You always kept going even if everyone thought that all was lost. And even now, with nothing to lose, you still want to fight."

"I have everything to lose," I disagree. "Everything I worked for can vanish now and continue on without me. And I don't want to let that happen."

She takes one last look at me and hugs me. "I love you," she murmurs into my hair.

"I love you too," I say. And I do. I really do.

She holds my face in her hands and kisses my forehead. She touches my head with her forefinger and her clear, blue eyes are the last thing I see before everything goes dark.

* * *

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	8. Booth 4

The next week was a continuous cycle, one wave after another of the same things. I never left her side, not because I wanted to, but because I _needed_ to. It was involuntary, it was irrational, but my love for her would never cease; therefore, I would never leave her. I'm so sick of these monochromatic walls and plushy furniture. Even worse, doctors despised me. Every morning was the same.

Doctor 1: You need to leave. We have to perform a test.

Me: I'm not leaving.

Doctor 2: You can't be in the operation room with her. You can wait outside.

Me: I'm not leaving her.

Nurse: Please, Agent Booth.

Me: Not going to happen.

So then they would try to bribe me out of my seat and whatnot, but I just sat stubbornly motionless, staring at Brennan. Finally Doctor 1 sighed and handed me a pair of scrubs. "Please change," he said.

So for seven days I sat with her and went into the operations with her. I saw some pretty nasty yet humane things during her surgeries I'm not going to repeat, but the fact was that she wasn't getting better and I was annoying the staff of the hospital. She wasn't supposed to last this long, which was a really good sign, but when I watched her, she was so inanimate and breathless I thought she could be dead if she wanted to be. But she didn't, at least I hoped. If she had that choice right now, I wonder what she would choose. An infinity of oblivion and minimal pain was her reasoning of an impossible afterlife, but we have to go somewhere, don't we? We're all just tissues and bones and blood and muscles, every one of us, but there's something that makes us who we are. Like a soul, a spirit. She doesn't believe in it because it can't be observed, but so can a lot of things. And maybe one day she'll see that.

And God, I don't want to burden her with choices. I don't want her to change for me, but she has. She's changed her beliefs on so many things because of me, and I don't ever want her to think I'm using her like that. I still talk to her, and nurses swoon with empathy, and doctors look at me in disbelief, but she needs to know. There was no much I never got to even tell her, because I thought she knew. But what if she didn't? And then I'll never know, and I'll die with curious regrets.

My world is upside down.

* * *

Friends come and go. I remember segments of various conversations, but am too occupied to really care. I know they want her to be alright like I do, but it's always different. They love her, but I just…need her for existence. Humans think that trying to make you feel better helps, but it just reminds you of how bad the situation really is. And, like Angela, I need to feel reassured. I need a miracle to let me know that it's not over.

Sweets came in on the third morning. His eyes were puffed and face blotchy, but I tried to ignore it.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," I replied, not taking my eyes of Brennan.

I could sense his eyes staring into my head, but he quickly swiveled them to face my partner. He clutched the bars on the end of the bed, knuckles turning white.

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"Not your fault," I stuttered.

"Booth, look at me."

I hesitated, but turned to face the psychologist. I could see tears in his eyes, rapidly forming more than what he could handle. He swallowed, tears making it hard for him to speak.

"I'm not talking to you as a colleague," he trembled. "I'm talking to you as a friend. This isn't right. This is a bunch of bullshit that we're sitting here waiting for something to happen that may never be possible."

"Sweets…" I began, but he cut me off.

"I feel like it doesn't even matter. What you've worked for, you both. How I've watched and attempted to help you with your relationship, but it always had to be you two. Your compromise. And I watched you both develop, and it was marvelous to see how far you would go for one another. It didn't matter if you were opposites, it didn't matter if you didn't agree on anything. You were dependent on one another. And it was beautiful."

Sweets, he was a damaged kid. Life hadn't treated him well, and I could see why he majored in his profession now. He needed to know how people felt. He had to know that someone out there thought the same things he did, because he had always been cast out and all he had ever wanted was a family, a legit one. And he envied love, especially undeserved love. And he watched Bones and me, and saw the most beautiful development he could imagine. All he wished is that it would happen to him. And he feels sorry for me, because he knows now how I feel.

"I don't want your pity," I said.

"I'm not giving you pity, believe me," he grunted. "I'm not giving you shit about how it's all going to be okay or how everything will go back to normal. Because it's not."

He was angry, and I couldn't comprehend why. "I appreciate you caring, but…"

He stopped me again. "All I want, Booth is for you to promise me something."

"Anything," I breathed. Why anything? Because I saw all this pain on his face, and he needed to be, like all of us, reassured.

"Prom….promise me you'll torture that bastard that shot her," he said quietly. "Make the last minutes of his life a hell."

He began to shake, and the tears finally fell down his face. "She really loves you, you know. God, she loves you. Even before…before everything happened. She was so crazy about you, and she denied it every time."

I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I promise," I said. He nodded and took one last glance at her. I guessed he would want a hug or some physical momentum to express our sympathy towards one another, but he just sighed and left the room. I sat back down to watch my dying partner. I prayed to God. I remembered when she and Hodgins had been saved, and I had thanked Him not for saving them, but all of us. We all need each other. That's just the way it works.

* * *

Another morning, Cam came in. She was still sick and I could tell that she was congested in every breath she took. She didn't apologize or give her condolences, but watched Brennan like I did. After a while, I spoke up.

"Can I ask you something?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. Cam had always been one of my best friends. She was like Bones' Hodgins, always there but never intruding. We had a couple relationships, none of which I regret when I look at her, and I know she feels the same. She's the more "It is what it is" type, but sometimes that can be a flaw. But she's like a sister who I accidentally had sex with, and that still comes up in my mind, but it's easy to push away because I have no guilt about it. But I don't know what she does when that happens to her.

"Were you…when you found out Bones was pregnant, were you ever jealous?"

She didn't take her eyes of Brennan but responded immediately.

"No," she answered. "What we had, that was ignorant bliss. We both knew we would never work, and I never felt bad afterwards. Hell, even when we were together, I could see you were falling for her. It's okay, Seeley. Sometimes you just know what's best and then it ends up happening, and you have to be happy about it. And I was happy for both of you."

I nodded at her, a mutual understanding forming. "Okay."

* * *

Max and Christine and Hodgins and Angela visited frequently. The remainder of my hospital memories consisted of cries and tears and hushed whispers. I would cradle my daughter and Angela would sob and it just went on like that for a while. Something needed to happen, and it had to happen soon.

* * *

One night, about ten days after Brennan had originally been shot, something did happen. The daily test had told the doctors that she could finally breathe on her own. They removed the cannula from her nose and took the oxygen tank out of her room at around five.

I rubbed my hand on her uninjured shoulder. "Hey, honey. You can breathe again. Come on, baby. C'mon Bones. You're almost there."

I sat there for a couple hours, nurse entering periodically to check on her signs. We wouldn't speak, and the checks never lasted long.

I stroked her hair and murmured distant songs to relieve me of my thoughts. I watched in pride as her chest went up and down without assistance. I finally rested my hand on hers and fell asleep in my chair, forever hoping for the best.

Around two in the morning I felt a twitch by my hand. I shook up, wondering if it was from my dream. I looked over at Brennan and saw her breathing heavily. Alarmed, I bent over to reach the call button on the nearby remote to summon the nurse. But she started coughing and I began to see dismay yet life in her face.

"Bones, Temperance, come on. I'm right here."

She coughed a little more, eyes still shut. Her head fell back on her pillow. I grabbed her hand and laced our fingers. _C'mon, c'mon _I prayed.

She turned her head towards me. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened. I looked at her, not knowing what to expect.

Her eyes grew wide as she began to recognize me. A small grin crept upon the side of her face.

"Booth."

* * *

**_Ugh, I'm a horrible person. Let me know how y'all think, okay? Happy times are coming soon, I promise!_**


	9. Brennan 5

Booth's face flashed a wave of emotions. I could see specks of tears forming in the creases of his eyes, and he smiled like a fool. He stood up and bent over me, passionately kissing my lips. It was sweet and full of indescribable bliss, but painfully short as I had to come up for air. We tore apart, and he sat back down, speechless at my marvelous recovery.

Before we could talk, doctors and nurses rushed in. Booth must have hit the call button when he felt me wake. Our serenity was demolished by raging assistants and medically enhanced civilians. They pricked me with needles, analyzed my results, and asked me questions.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Does this hurt?"

"A little."

"What is your name?"

"Temperance Brennan."

"Do you know who this man is?" a doctor asked, gesturing to Booth. He hadn't torn his eyes off me during the experiment. I looked at him, lost in his gaze. "Yeah."

"Tell me about him," the doctor encouraged.

I didn't look at the doctor. I didn't look at the nurse who was quietly drawing my blood. I didn't see the physician's assistant nearby observing the scene. All I saw was Booth.

"This is Seeley Booth," I carefully answered. "He's my partner and friend."

"Go on," the doctor said, scribbling notes on his clipboard.

"There's nothing more to say." God, Booth was beautiful. His eyes shimmered with fresh tears that had not given themselves up to gravity. His jaw outlined his basic, handsome structure. He was biting his lip, silent in the chaos. "What goes on between us is ours."

The doctor looked at me and Booth. "Very well." He then instructed me what had happened, how long I had been out, etc. He reminded me that I needed to rest, but I was a miracle enough for being alive that he didn't stay for long. He and his numerous friends left the room. We were alone.

Booth retook my hand and let his fingers run through the side of my face with the other. I closed in my eyes and quietly moaned at his reassuring touch. There was so much to do, so much to say, yet we couldn't ruin the euphoria.

I reopened my eyes and gazed at him. The tears had finally decided to fall down his tanned cheeks. I still hadn't heard him speak since I had recovered, and longed for his voice.

"Hi," I finally whispered.

"Hey," he replied.

How could we possibly start a conversation in the middle of this? The paradise of wonder had never been attractive to me, but maybe it was better not to know sometimes. To live in the curiosity was never a sweet downfall, but it was a reality we had come to face. And now I found myself lost in him, someone who rationally would never be my match, someone whose beliefs conflicted mine so harshly it was a wonder that we could ever agree. But if his faith could weave a reality, it certainly constructed ours. Many things can't be visible, but we choose to believe in them. When I was gone, I still believed in him. "I knew you wouldn't give up."

He softly smiled and repeated the phrase. "I knew you wouldn't give up."

I continued to stare at him. "What was it like," I began. "When you were in that coma?"

It was an idiotic question, but had to be answered in order to confirm my suspicions. We had to start somewhere, so why not where we were both connected in a state of subconscious fantasy?

"It was…a prophecy," he said. "I knew it wasn't right, it wasn't logical, but it felt so real. I could have stayed there forever."

I smiled. "You really liked those clothes."

He laughed. "Yeah. Wow, those clothes. They were something else. But the real extravaganza was us. Me and you, actually…together. A functioning couple. We weren't the same people, but we could be observed it a realistic way."

"You don't have to go all scientific for me."

"I know," he countered. "But I want to tell it in a way that you'll understand."

I nodded. "Would you believe me that I wasn't here when I was asleep?"

He was taken aback at my thought. "Like, your soul subconsciously left your humane body and took flight in an unfathomable setting?"

God, he was making this harder than it needed to be. "Yeah."

"And you're willing enough to admit that?"

I shrugged, which hurt my shoulder. I whimpered in pain. Apparently it was loud enough for Booth to head and he clasped my hand tighter.

"You don't have to say that," he mumbled. "You've been shot and heavily drugged in the past couple days. You don't have to admit that there's something strictly paranormal going on."

"I know." And I do. I realize the fact. I remember the conversation with my mother, how I had to deprive myself of my selfish beliefs to continue on with Booth in whatever afterlife became apparent to us. So I retold him of my experience, of my fall and of my flight, of my visitor, and of my enlightenment. He stayed silent for me, but distress was shown in the recognizable features, or at least I hope. I'm not very good at reading people's expressions.

I stopped, tired from my speech. "It's illogical, but I can't imagine it not being real."

"It's okay," he said. "Some things just can't be explained."

Like us. We're inconceivable.

"She, my mom, also wanted me to tell you something personally. Vincent, he talks to her a lot. And he says that whatever you're feeling, that it's okay. His sacrifice was not in vain, and he just wants you live. I don't understand any of it, but she said that you will."

He straightened up. He looked concerned and tense, like he hadn't been expecting what I said.

"Do you feel regret?" I asked.

"Not anymore." He drew himself yet closer to me and put his forehead on mine. We were so close, so ready to erupt our millions of unfathomable thoughts, yet we stayed silent for the sake of each other.

His eyes were closed when he asked the question. "Do you ever want to get married?"

No, no, I thought. That's what brought up the wretched argument in the first place. That's what caused our anger to spark and our silence to become apparent.

* * *

_"What if we got married?" he asked me as I dressed Christine for daycare._

_"Why do we need to?" I responded, pulling a dress over the infant's head._

_"Because…because it would mean something to me."_

_"Of course it would. But there's two sides to a relationship, Booth, and I don't agree with your belief."_

_"Come on," he pleaded as we walked down the stairs. "If you don't care about it, then what's wrong with it?"_

_"It's idiotic. Irrational, to pledge yourself to another person legally for reasons that have already been established."_

_"But it's the thought, Bones. The thought of spending infinity with someone."_

_"Infinity is not a definite term. It represents eternity, an everlasting effect."_

_"That's what we are, Bones. Everlasting."_

_"Booth, with time, things change. Don't you ever think that if we spent infinity together we might change the way we feel about each other?"_

_"No," he responded, somewhat annoyed. "Do you ever think that you will stop loving me?"_

_"No," I said honestly. "But if we changed as much in an infinity as we have in the past few years there could be a time where we don't love each other."_

_He threw his jacket on the ground. "How could you say that?!" he bellowed. _

_"Because that's what I think!" I cried, holding Christine to my chest. "I love you, Booth, and will until the day I die, but if we are so eternal you need to respect my wishes, and I don't want to get married!"_

_"Why?" he sobbed. "What's wrong with me? What have I done to you, to Christine, to make you feel like you would never want to spend forever with me?"_

_It was so much more complicated than that. I had never trusted anyone the way I trusted Booth, and he was pushing it to the limit. He hadn't hurt me or Christine, but he should realize that I wasn't ready for this. "I'm not ready for forever, Booth," I pleaded. "Please."_

_He glared at me, unconvinced at my answer. He was so afraid of rejection he couldn't bear to start over again. I looked at him. "Why are you here if you don't even care?"_

* * *

But he cares. God, he cares about me. He was furious and still wouldn't sleep unless he knew I was home safely. And now I realize why I have been so fearful of marriage: it's a contract promising yourself to the other person for eternity. For the rest of your life you will be together and nothing would change that. Divorce, maybe, but Booth wouldn't tolerate it. And neither would I.

And now I realize my dilemma with the white dress I wore during the meeting with my mother. It was gorgeous, vintage, and heavenly, but it was a wedding dress. I had never imagined myself getting married. The level of trust given and received was unbearable for my taste. Marriage was a sinful act that gave up some of the only rights we had as humans. History had proven marriage to be an act of ownership. Men owned their wives, who then had no say in their own beliefs. It wasn't right, and I was independent enough to learn that I wanted that self-dependency forever. But Booth came in, and I found myself dependent upon him.

He opened his eyes and sat back down. I could see more tears in his eyes, but whether if they were of sadness or joy, I did not know. So I answered the question with what I had learned. I had to give myself up to prove myself to Booth. He didn't need anything from me, but had always required marriage for success, and had not yet achieved it. When he found out Jared was getting married, he had to reassure himself that the right person hadn't come for him yet. And he still believed that fate brought us together, so maybe he had already imagined us as a married couple. Of course he has, that was his coma fantasy. Or prophecy, as he put it. But he feared the rejection that Hannah and Rebecca had given him, and I was afraid that if I missed my chance, I would never get another.

"Maybe," I whispered.

His eyes lit up. "Maybe?" he repeated. His voice was not angry, nor was it irritated. It was hopeful.

"Maybe," I said again. "If there's a time where we feel this mutual feeling that we need to be married, then I'll do it."

"Not very traditional," he laughed. "No proposal?"

"I didn't say that," I said. Booth always thought I would propose to him. However, he was the traditional one, so it was his job to do the proposing. But we weren't traditional, so who knows what's going to happen.

"The other day…" Booth remembered. "I wasn't asking. I was just wondering."

"I know." He wanted a preview of what I was thinking. It led to anger, which was unnecessary. "It's not going to be today, Booth, or even tomorrow. But there might be a day where we look at each other and we just feel the sudden sensation to do it…"

"I understand." There was a pause. "We need a word."

"What?" I questioned.

"Like, you know how couples have songs? We have a song, you and I both know that."

"Hot Blooded," I smiled.

"Yeah," he grinned. "What about a word? Some couple's are 'always' or 'forever'. What would be ours?"

"You don't have to get romantic on me."

"I know. I'm not trying to be. But you know when you take those personality test and they ask you to describe yourself in one word? What would ours be?"

I laughed at him. My beautiful, kick ass partner took personality tests for fun. I'd have to talk to Sweets about that later. But really though, to describe Booth and me is like counting the stars in the sky.

We sat in silence, thinking. I don't know how long I had been awake for, but I was beginning to feel drowsy again.

"I've got it," he said out of nowhere.

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

He gazed at me with his sparkling brown eyes. Glazed with tears, filled with emotion, he took my hand with both of his. "Inevitable."

I didn't respond at first. It was a powerful word. Used by people with poignant vocabularies to emphasize an essence. "Inevitable," I repeated. "Unable to be avoided, evaded, or escaped from. Necessary, sure to occur."

He nodded and grasped my hand tighter. His voice came out in a soft, raspy whisper. "That's what we are, Bones. We're inevitable. We're unavoidable. It doesn't matter that we don't agree on everything. It doesn't matter that we fight or disagree. We were meant to happen," he says, convinced. "So many times either one of us could've died or lost the other; so many times could we escape the other in the pleasures of someone else. You could have gone on that sailboat. I could have waited for Hannah to be ready. But we always had each other, Bones. We were so positively meant to happen, that even the world slowed us down to watch us evolutionize. And oblivion and fear could do us no harm cause we trusted each other. When you were gone, you had no idea if I would be upset at you. But you trusted me enough to think that I would do everything in my power to bring you home. We have a daughter," he smiled. "Who would have ever thought that? We live together; we raise a human being!" he exclaimed. "I love you more than anything. And I always will."

* * *

_"Here we are. All of us, basically alone, separate creatures just circling each other. All searching for that slightest hint of a real connection. Some look in the wrong places, some, they just give up hope because in their mind they're thinking, 'Oh, there's nobody out there for me.' But all of us, we keep trying over and over again. Why? Because every once in a while, every once in a while two people meet and there's that spark. And yes Bones, he's handsome and she's beautiful and maybe that's all they see at first, but making love? Making love, that's when two people become one."_

_"It is scientifically impossible for two objects to occupy the same space."_

_"Yeah, but what's important is we try. And when we do it right, we get close."_

_"To what? Breaking the laws of physics?"_

_"Yeah, Bones. A miracle."_

* * *

A miracle. It shouldn't matter if I am dismayed by his beliefs. If it's good enough for him, then it's good enough for me. And if it takes me to believe in fate for us to spend whatever happens after we die together, then I'll do it. And if we have to get married for him to finally feel successful, then so be it. I'll do it for him because he's done everything for me. I love him, and that's one thing that will never change.

"We've inevitable," I said to him.


	10. Booth 5

I smiled at my partner. "You bet we are."

She gazed at me, but her eyes were cold and dead, tired and lifeless. She couldn't see what she was looking at. The galaxy of blue swiveled and spiraled, but she was still ill and confused. She was so drained from worry and fright, and I could see that.

I squeezed her hand. "You need to rest."

She shook her head violently. "No, Booth. I'm fine."

"Please," I begged. "You're exhausted." I adjusted her morphine drip that had curled itself around her bedside. "You've been though a lot in the past few days. Just sleep."

"No," she insisted. I could sense that she was agitated, but not directly at me.

"Why?"

She looked at me sadly. "Because…because I don't want this to be a dream. I don't want to wake up and everything has changed, that this isn't real." She started to breathe harder and heavier. "This can't be fake, Booth. I…I don't know what I'll do if I'm really dead…or you're dead…or if this doesn't even exist." Her voice was strained and full of uneasiness. "I can't be alone again, Booth. I can't live like I used to, before I even knew what love was. And with my mother…it felt so real. And if this is like that and if I'm dead and imagining everything…"

Tears began to roll down her cheeks and she started to gasp for air. "I can't do it, Booth. I don't want to be alone. I don't want this to end."

Pain was etched on her body in every place imaginable. I stood up and sat on her bed. Still holding her hand, I used my other to stroke her hair. "Hey, hey, shhhhh. Honey, it's okay. I'm right here. I'm right here, Bones. You don't have to be scared. Shhh, Bones, look at me. Look at me. You're okay. You're okay. This is real, Bones. I promise. And I'll be here for you, whether it's when you wake up, or you want to stay here. No one is gonna make you leave, Temperance. I'm not going to let you go."

Her stifled sobs echoed in the vacant room. I ran my fingers down her face and wiped her tears away. I drew myself close to her and kissed her forehead. "I'm right here, Bones. I'm always going to be here," I whispered into her hair.

We broke apart and I sat back down in my seat. My partner had stains on her face and bruises on her chest. The bandages covered her scars that would live with her forever. Every time she moved she winced in agony. She had lost enough blood to fill a…well, I don't know. And it had been replaced, and she has new blood in her, new life. And we didn't know what to do because we couldn't risk anything because just the thought of losing the other was unbearable.

I don't remember if I was crying. I don't remember anything else but her pained expression and my inability to help the one I love. And I'm the only one who can help her, and I think that everyone knows it. We've been through enough to realize only one person could make us feel content no matter what.

"I'm always going to be here for you, baby."

"I know. I know. I think I've always known." She tried to laugh, but ended up choking. She leaned forward as she began to cough up blood. I put my arm around her to support her. She fell back on her pillow.

"I'm never going to leave you, Booth. Not willingly, at least. I can't…I can't live without you. And it's illogical to think that one's happiness is contingent upon another's existence, but that's how I feel, whether it's right or not."

"Shhh, Bones. I know. I know who you are. I know what you want to believe. You don't have to explain it to me."

She shook her head. "But if I can never prove how much I need you, how will you know?"

"You've proved it. Believe me."

She stared back at me wistfully. "Booth?" she whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"What's your biggest fear?"

My mind raced. My biggest fear? Losing my family, obviously. Losing the people I love and cherish and used to take for granted. If Brennan or Christine or Parker died, I couldn't live with myself, whether it was my fault or not. But it could've happened. Multiple times, I know, but today, seeing my love reawaken with a new perspective gave me a new one also. Things are going to happen and you're not going to be able to stop it, no matter how much you want to. But if something was in your control and went wrong, that guilt would never go away. So if something happened to one of them and I had nothing to do with it, I still would find a way to involve myself in their death. But that's not what they would want. That's not what she would want. The only reason she was in the lab in the first place was because of our fight, but it was still her choice to say. It was completely voluntary, and I didn't stop her. But in the future, if something happens again, how will we go from there?

"Mea culpa," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"It's Latin," I tried to explain.

"I know, I know, but what do you mean?"

"Mea culpa," I began, "translates into 'through my own fault'."

"Yes," she agreed. "It was first used by Confiteor, a part of the Catholic Mass, where sinners confessed their failings before God."

Goodness gracious, she was so beautiful when she was trying to be smart. I had already known that, being an altar boy and all, but the fact that she tries to put things into their simplest form just for me…well, that means a lot.

"Yeah," was all I could muster while I was under the spell of her beauty and intelligence.

"But Booth, that doesn't make sense. How could an ancient phrase be your biggest fear?"

"It's not the phrase, Bones. It's the meaning. It's saying, by my interpretation, that if something happens to you or Christine or Parker while you are completely in my control, I would never be able to forgive myself."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Booth."

"No, no, just listen. I used to think that if one of you died I would blame myself for all eternity. But everyone dies, Bones, and it just depends in the context of which the death occurs. Years ago, if you would have been shot by Pam, I would have blamed myself, because I didn't step up to save you. And I used to think the same about this." I gestured to the monitors and her bandaged body. "But now, according to this dominant fear, there was nothing I could have done to save you. I wasn't able to take those bullets for you."

"But you still would've blamed yourself if I had died."

"Not anymore. That's not what you would have wanted me to do. You would have wanted me to raise our daughter in the best way possible, because you trust me to do so. But if Pam did shoot you, and you ceased to exist, I could blame myself because I knew I could have saved you."

It was a confusing concept I didn't expect her to understand. But she was a genius, and she loved me, so I knew that she would accept that.

"Is this the same for Christine and Parker?"

Of course, if anything happened to them, I would rethink everything I'd ever done wrong. I would regret memory after memory, but I wouldn't be able to control their lives forever. Just now.

"Not yet. Because they're still mine. Their my responsibility."

"So if something happened to them, you would be guilty no matter what."

"Yeah, cause they're kids. You're different. You're a strong, confident woman. They're my kids, and for the moment, everything they do is my responsibility. And in the future, things will change, but for now…"

"I understand."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "There are some things that we don't understand, no matter what. And there are things that we choose not to understand. And when we finally do choose to understand them, we have a new perception that helps us to live our lives better."

"I don't know what that means."

"You don't have to."

I grinned and kissed her. Her lips wrapped themselves around mine. I put my hand on her uninjured shoulder and caressed her neck. It wasn't a kiss of sympathy or mutual acceptance. It was a kiss full of passion and hope, filled with life and the confirmation that the best is yet to come.

* * *

Sweets walked in the room. Brennan was finally asleep, and I had my hands in my lap, eyes watching her carefully.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, Sweets."

"How is she?"

"Alive," I said honestly. "In pain, but she'll be alright."

There was an awkward pause. I thought he had left but he spoke up again.

"I have something for you."

He came up beside me and handed me a stack of files. "We went through the security cameras from the Jeffersonian from that night. We also interviewed the guards that were supposed to be working. It appears that all of them were drugged and never made it to work."

He continued. "When Arastoo was relooking over the bones and Doctor Brennan's files, he realized some evidence was missing."

"That would give us motive."

"Yeah. Break in, steal files, leave. Pretty easy to accomplish, unfortunately."

"But she was there, in his way."

"Exactly. He freaked and shot her. Left the scene with the evidence and escaped."

"But…?"

"Luckily for us, this isn't Pelant. We found the man on the security cameras and matched him up from the FBI database."

"Who is he?"

"Name is Marcus Herald." Sweets gestured to the files. "I thought since you were here, and she was asleep that you could read over his files and relook at the previous victim's relationship with him."

"Have you already profiled him?"

"Yeah. Of course, he could have been stealing the evidence for someone else, but if my theory is correct, then he would have no problem killing someone for self-gain."

"What did he have to lose? Why did he remove himself from the case?"

"No family that we can find, but there's always a reason for something. FBI is tracking him right now. We're going to find him, Booth."

"You call me, all right? When they find out where he is, you let me know."

"I know."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Tell Doctor Brennan I said hello when she comes 'round again."

"Will do. See you later."

"See you."

He left the room and I opened the first file about Marcus Herald. I analyzed his hometown, family, past relationships, illegal felonies, education, and past work experiences. In order to catch him, I had to become him. I had to learn everything about him in order to take him down. He had shot my partner. I had witnessed the most nightmarish scene I could ever imagine and it was because he was cowardly enough to steal anything that linked him to murder. And I'm going to kill him. I don't care if it's fair or legal.

No one messes with my family.


	11. Brennan 6

The next few days were repetitive and insufficient. I spent a considerable amount of time in therapy and rehabilitation; Booth would lift me off the bed and place me in a wheelchair and carefully roll me down the hallway to where I needed to go. I frequently struggled and neglected to get better. Every time I tried to get up and walk, I would collapse in his arms.

"It's okay," he encouraged. "Try again."

And I would. And I would fail. He was always there to catch me. My shoulder was sore and my side still ached even with the constant medications that made their way into my body. Pain was part of recovery, but it lasted longer than what it should've. I got exhausted easily and would blurb sentences without even knowing what I was trying to say. The doctors grew impatient, but I wasn't even supposed to live in the first place, so they prevailed to help me heal.

On the third afternoon after my awakening, my father had come in. I was hoping to see Christine, but Booth quickly explained how Angela had offered to watch her for the day. Booth had then wanted to leave us alone, knowing that the conversation to come would be rather discrete and reluctant. He squeezed my hand and left the room hesitantly. Max came closer, close enough for me to see his fresh wrinkles and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey, Tempe." He bent over and kissed my forehead.

"Hey, Dad."

It had been the first time I had seen him in a couple weeks; he had visited Russ recently and I was too busy with work to have a meeting with my father. He looked different, somehow; damaged, as usual, but more…vigilant. He had always been alert and cautious, but as he sat down before me, I saw his eyes shift across the room to make sure that we were alone.

"So, umm, Booth tells me that you saw your mom."

I hesitated. My father used to be a scientist and had many of the same beliefs that I did about the paranormal and supernatural. But he was more tolerant of others and their opinions, and respected their infatuation with heaven and paradise. The asset here is that my dad trusts me. And I trust him. He took care of me for fifteen years and then vanished to secure my safety. And he returned; he helped me escape and took care of my daughter and me for three months. I had often disagreed with him during that time; blaming him for Booth's unhappiness and my predicament, but he knew how to vanish from the system and stay alive. That was crucial when dealing with Pelant.

"Yes. I mean, I think so."

"Be confident, Temperance."

"I saw her," I continued. "And she spoke to me. I can't explain it…I can't describe it again, but it was so real. It felt so real."

"That's what Booth said when he came back from his coma," he countered.

"You're not helping," I said. "Either you believe me, or you don't."

"I believe you. You're not very good at lying." He laughed and I smiled gently.

"No, I'm not," I agreed.

He looked at me sadly and wistfully. I was getting tired of that look; expressions filled with pity had surrounded me lately and I hated the feeling of being innocent and weak.

"Your mom really loved you," he said.

"I know. You don't need to be her messenger. What she did, what you did, was an irrational act, but you did it for the right reasons. You tried to protect Russ and me. You kept your lie a secret and we all had to pay for it in the end," I said. "Especially her."

"I could've protected her," he protested. "I could've saved her life, and she would still be with us. If I had…if I had got to her on time…"

"It's no use. She's gone."

"And where would we be if she were still here? What if we could actually have traditional holidays, if she could see what successful adults her children have become? What if she could actually spend time with her granddaughter, and play with her and teach her and be a part of her life?"

"She is a part of her life!" I explained. "Booth and I, we're going to raise Christine in a way that she'll know her grandmother. She'll know what Mom had to pay, what she went through. And she'll realize why we named her what we did."

"Did you force Booth to agree to name her just so you could feel closer to her?" he spat.

"No," I replied instantly. "He thought of it himself. You're a part of Christine's life, and so is she. She won't be ignored or forgotten as long as we're still here."

"You're a big believer in legacy," he observed.

"I'm a believer in evolution and history," I corrected him. "Hundreds of civilizations and cultures continue to have their traditions because they've been handed down over time. Oral translations, texts, visual elements; they all are part of a bigger picture. And as long as they stay intact, artifacts and stories will be continued to be passed down until there is no one left to retrieve the memories. Mom is still part of our lives, so we'll continue her history until someone stops. And that person will not be me."

Max budged in his seat. He was one of the many victims of tragic love, and his protective nature got the best of him. Living with the grief that his wife, his lover, was dead while he continued to breathe was painful and displayed a lack of proper chivalry. So he dedicated his life to Russ and me, and our families. Seeing him with Christine at first made me disinclined at first; he had abandoned me, any way you put it. And seeing him with my daughter, my child, made me concerned to the point where I had to climb out the window of a moving vehicle to make sure that she was safe. But then I opened my eyes (metaphorically, of course) and saw that he needed the assurance to be part of her life, and devoted himself to her.

"You're an excellent father," I said. "Your past does not define the kind of person you are. You shouldn't waste your time worrying about your future. What you are now matters the most." I thought about Booth's video he made for Christine, how all he wants from her is her to be happy and know that he loves her more than anything. Booth would sacrifice himself for our daughter at any given time, and my father was willing to do that for me, too, and I was too blind to see it.

"You're so much like your mom," he finally said. "Confident, independent, bold, all up until the point where you find love. You bend your habits for the one person who means the most to you, and rediscover yourself in the process." He reached over and grasped my hand. "I'm so proud of you, Temperance," he said. "I love you, and I want you to love your life. I want you to love yourself and I want you to love Booth and I want you to love Christine. I look at you and Booth, how far you've come, and that's the main evidence that people can change."

"People don't change," I argued. "They adapt."

"They don't adapt that willingly and quickly as you two did. He loves you so much, Tempe, and everyone can see that. He's the only man I've ever known in my lifetime that is worthy enough to be with you, and that's including me. When I die, I'll die knowing that he'll take care of you no matter what happens, that he'll lay his life down to protect you…

"He's a good man, honey. Don't let him go."

"I'm not planning on it."

My father grinned. "Don't even think about it."

* * *

Soon after, Booth returned with Christine in his arms. Max stood up, said his goodbyes, and hastily left the room. Booth told me that Angela was outside wanting to see me, but had insisted that I see Christine first. He handed my daughter to me, and I held her in my arms. Her pale, deep eyes shimmered and her goofy smile made me grin. Booth sat on the edge of the bed and put his arm around me. I laid my head on his shoulder, and there we sat, united as a family.

Christine babbled and grumbled. "Ca…kar…da…da."

I turned to Booth to find tears welling in his eyes. A surge of sympathy rushed through my veins. Earlier, he didn't know if he would see us together again. He didn't know if he was to become a single parent, suffering with the effects of losing, basically, your entire life, your entire reason to live. Knowing that I meant so much to someone used to haunt and pressure me, but the feeling is mutual. Eavesdropping on Booth, talking to his daughter via video camera, saying that he was _the luckiest man in the world_, all because he knew me. We were an enchantment of philosophical and psychological discovery, but were unable to be observed clearly. What happened between us was ours. We both had friends, close friends, with whom we told everything to, but we were each other's life, and there's no other way to put it. We were partners, but had stretched that definition so far that no one realized how significant it was. We were mates, lovers, and friends, but even those words could not match the connotations that came up with Booth and me. The whole boyfriend/girlfriend scenario was inadequate, and husband/wife was another matter in the future. We were colleagues and professionals, but had a personal life with each other on top of our careers. And that's what makes us so unique. No word can do us justice; nothing can describe us better than nothing at all. Inevitability is what we are as a couple, but the term to pair us as one might never be discovered. The old term "actions speak louder than words" is very true in this case. And I look at our daughter; I've always known that we've come a long way, that we've overcome obstacles to get to each other, but when you see this child that you created together, everything changes. Some people don't think that a child can change a relationship, and I never, ever, want Booth to think that the only reason I'm with him, or ever been with him, is because of Christine. That night when Vincent died, we were both exposed and free, but we didn't take advantage of it. We reacted to it. And I don't regret it. And in this moment, everything is perfect, everything is unified, and I realize this. And I'm not supposed to be so emotional but I compare everything that fate could've had in store for us to what happened, and I don't know if the thought wants to make me cry or scream in joy. But today, crying wins.

Christine grabbed a hold of my finger and hovered it over her head. Tears began to stream down my face, and Booth detects it immediately.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I nodded my head and dug my head closer into his chest. The arm around my shoulder grew tighter and drew me closer; the other helped me support Christine.

"Ma?" she gibbered, sensing my discomfort.

"Shhh, baby, mommy's fine." I cradled her closer to me and Booth. He kissed my forehead and gazed at me. "You want to know why she is the most perfect thing that I have ever seen?"

I tried to murmur out a "Why?"

"Because she's the best of you. I can look at her at any time and see you in her. She has your eyes, Bones, and she has your curiosity. Our daughter is part of you, she is you, and even if she has a fraction of your beauty and intelligence, I'll be proud of her. You're a good mom, and you want the best for her. And I love you, and I love her more than anything. We all have flaws, Bones, but love sees past that."

"You believe that love conquers everything."

"I do. And I'll carry that with me to the grave. You don't have to be faultless to be loved. I want the best for our child, and the only way that can happen is that both of her parents will be there for her. I don't want anything to come between us. I love you the way you are, Bones, and that's one thing that will never change."

I took in his words with a lot of thought. I feel bad for thinking the same repeated thoughts rather constantly, even if they are put into a new form, but some things you can't take for granted. Some people will never know love, and most couples don't have what Booth and I have. And I pity them.

Booth brushed his lips against my cheek. "You don't know how lovely you are."

* * *

Booth took Christine and left, saying that Angela really needed some time alone with me. I didn't want him to leave; as soon as he departed with our daughter, I felt a longing for their presence, but Angela soon walked in and my distress diminished.

Angela's face beamed and she practically ran over to give me a hug. Carefully avoiding my bandaged wounds, she embraced me lovingly.

"Hi, sweetie."

"Hey, Angela."

She was in that state of sheer joy and pure happiness you often get after receiving the perfect Christmas present or relaxing on a peaceful beach where murders were not a concern.

"How are you?"

"Good," I replied truthfully. "I'm really good."

"I've missed you," she said. "You can't do that to me again!"

I chortled lightheartedly. "I'll make sure to scold the shooter if he ever comes near me again. Okay?"

"Okay, sweetie. You've got a pretty good nurse taking care of you."

"I do have several good doctors and nurses providing care for me, but I don't know who you're talking about."

She chuckled. "Booth, honey. He never left your side when you were out. I heard he got pretty rough with the doctors in order for him to get full time access to you."

I rolled my eyes. "Figures."

"Oh, but honey, that's not even the best part. When I came into the waiting room this morning, there were a handful of nurses gossiping about him."

"What were they saying?" I asked, curious.

"They were swooning about how most husbands don't care about their wives as much as Booth cares about you and stuff like that. One or two of them volunteered to give up their free hours in order to take more shifts taking care of you and seeing him."

"That's…interesting."

"You're not worried about it, are you?"

"Of course not."

She grinned. "We've all been working hard since you've had your…incident. Cam and Hodgins are really close to solving the murder, and Sweets is teaming up with the FBI to find your shooter. And Arastoo has been super sweet. He's been helping out a lot extra lately, and a bunch of the other interns offered their help on the case."

"I'm glad they could work without me."

"Don't worry about it; there will be more murders to solve."

Smiling and laughing, Angela and I talked for over an hour. By the time a nurse had come in and realized that Angela was not family to me, we had shared our recollections from the past week and much more.

"Out! Out!" the nurse shrieked. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Angela turned to her. "Actually, I'm her fifth cousin twice removed. So I think that I deserve some respect."

I tried to hold in a laugh as Angela left the room.

"Oh, and honey, Arastoo read us some of his poetry that was dedicated to you. It was very beautiful. There's something about not being able to understanding something that you can feel is more important than what you have ever known."

* * *

**_One more chapter! Are you excited for the episode next week?_**


	12. Booth 6

**_I have a couple points to bring up before you start reading:_**

**_1) For the reader who asked, the "You don't know how lovely you are" line was indeed from "The Scientist" by Coldplay (that's my favorite song and I think it's appropriate for this episode). You can find it here: _**_ watch?v=s70OsXlDD94 _**_ I also think that the song "Never Say Never" by The Fray would be a really good representation of this episode. (_**_ watch?v=gy9TczXqHQM_**_)_**

**_2) I'm going to apologize for the mistakes that I've already made during this fic based off the promos and previews. Maybe I'm right at some points, but I'm sorry if you're disappointed at me because of my false leads._**

**_3) Most importantly, don't forget to watch "The Shot in the Dark" airing tomorrow at 8/7c on Fox!_**

**_Sorry for the shorter chapter! Let me know if there's any questions that I failed to address so I can possibly bring them up in an epilogue or something or other!_**

* * *

She slowly got better, she really did. She seemed happier, more pure, more complete in the days that followed. Her eyes sparkled and shimmered and reflected the light; her smile shone like the sun and radiated joy. I was willing to do anything to fix her, but she didn't need fixing. She didn't need to recover; she needed to go out and enjoy life. So we persisted through rehab and the hospital finally allowed her to leave. Bottles of medications and containers of dinners covered the kitchen counter. She still wasn't well enough to work, but she walked and talked with ease. Her arms were sore, so I acted for her on many accounts such as dressing and feeding her. Music streamed throughout the house. If a really good song would come on, she would scoot closer to me and lay her head on my shoulder. She would close her eyes and hum along to the sweet, sweet words. She got tired easily and spent her afternoons resting while Max took Christine to a park or museum. She would lay on my chest, falling asleep to the sound of my heartbeat.

It was a complete chaos of bliss.

* * *

On the fourth day after her return home, I got a phone call I'd been anxious to get.

"Booth?"

"Sweets? What's up?"

"We found him. We found Herald."

I nearly jumped off the couch, nearly awakening Brennan.

"Where is he?"

"Alley off of 32nd and Ditch. We're keeping track him now, but he's not going anywhere."

"Is the FBI surrounding the area?"

"Yeah, but I told them you didn't want them to go after him yet because you wanted to handle it yourself."

"Okay. Thanks."

"No problem." Pause. "Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything…stupid."

"Meaning?"

"Just…be careful with this guy."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

I dialed Max's number and explained the situation. He wasn't at all apprehensive to come home. He arrived at the door minutes later, carrying my daughter in his arms.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Booth?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I replied, taking Christine into my arms. "Daddy's got to go catch a bad guy," I cooed to her. "Can you and Grandpa take care of Mommy?"

She gurgled in reply. I sat her on the floor and grabbed my keys. "Call me if anything happens?" I asked, walking out the door.

Max nodded and turned to hush Christine from waking her mother. I climbed into the car and sped off.

* * *

When I arrived at the scene, I saw several hidden federal vehicles nearby. I motioned to them to keep their cool and react only if something went wrong. I wouldn't let them follow me in the alley; they couldn't see what I was about to do.

As I walked into the lane, I was quickly blinded with smoke and taken aback from a horrendous, poignant odor. I saw a shadow fly by me, and I quickly chased it. He ran behind a wall and started to climb a fence and I quickly followed. I couldn't let him escape. The lapse that would occur would be haunting for years to come. So I sped after Herald, or who I hoped to be him. My heartbeat increased but I couldn't fail. Not now.

I jumped on the iron fence and followed him up. He was like a spider, scurrying from rim to rim, trying to rid himself from me. If he got over, he would get away without doubt. He knew the area more than I did; I'm sure there were numerous tunnels and passageways that he could go through to escape. And I thought about the people that he's hurt and the pain that he's caused. Adrenaline pumped its way through my blood and clogged my head with a sudden rush.

He was close to the top now. His sweatshirt hood drooped off of his head, revealing jet black hair that curved its way around his cranium. In a few seconds he would be gone. So I reacted. I hurled myself toward him and tackled the man. We both fell to the ground, which was feet below us. I could feel a bone crack under me. I jumped right back up as he tried to limp away. I grabbed him and shoved him against the brick wall nearby.

"Marcus Herald?" I spat.

"Noooo…"

I looked into his eyes and saw the face that mirrored that of the files. He had cold, dark eyes and scars that covered his face. His teeth were yellow and a gold stud was pierced into his left ear. He was an utterly disgusting man, and I hated him from the moment I confirmed my suspicions.

I threw him against the wall in rage. "Don't lie to me!"

He cringed against the bricks, holding his hands up. Blood dripped from his lower lip. "I have…no idea…what you are talking about."

"No one touches her!" I screamed. I picked him up again and punched him in the stomach. He hovered over, holding his abdomen. I grabbed his sweatshirt and pinned him against the wall. "Look at me," I growled. His taciturn, obscure eyes met mine. "No one hurts her. You're going to pay."

"I have no clue…"

I threw him to the ground and pulled out my gun. I pointed it at him.

"No…please," he whimpered.

I looked at the man. I had to reprieve myself of the guilt; I had to get rid of this threat. But he could have a family that none of us know about. He could have a daughter, waiting at home for a father who may never return. No one deserved to live without a parent, no one deserved to live without knowing why their parent was gone forever.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't shoot him.

He knew it before I did. He kicked my legs and I toppled over, feeling my bones creak. He whisked back up and pulled out a blade. He slashed it through my shirt and I howled in agony. As he began to run off, I crawled to my gun, which had landed feet away. My vision was blurry. He was getting away. I only had one shot.

I pulled the trigger.

* * *

The next few hours were quite a rush. Marcus Herald was pronounced dead due to a gunshot wound to the head. He could've survived, but the exit wound was too integral that he was unconscious within the first minute of the shot. I was all right; my wound was painful but thankfully not deep enough to cause serious damage. An ambulance patched me up and gave me painkillers to relieve me. I wanted to get home, but the FBI kept me as a witness for the account. Sweets came, and he knew there was something wrong with me mentally. He quickly sent the other agents away.

"What's wrong?"

"I couldn't do it Sweets…I couldn't shoot him."

He studied my distress but didn't intrude into my thoughts. "It's okay," he said. "It's over."

* * *

I returned home late that night. Bones jumped off the couch and I put my arms around her. Max left, nodding to me as he exited. He would find out what happened eventually. But for now, we needed to focus on the present.

Her hurricanes of blue were questioning and curious, but I put a finger to my lips, signaling my silence. I gently picked up my sleeping daughter from her pen and nested her across my shoulder as I tried to support Brennan up the stairs. The walk through the hallway was slow and peaceful. We turned into our daughter's room and I laid her in her crib. Her eyebrows were scrunched and her thumb quickly found its way into her mouth. I sighed and turned to my partner, who was gazing at her longingly. I pressed my lips to her forehead and led us to our room.

I made her sit on our bed as I tried to find some pajamas for her. I settled on one of my old FBI T shirts and some loose but comfy sweatpants. I carefully pulled her existing shirt off of her and replaced it with mine. She whimpered when I touched her shoulder but it went away soon enough. I warily dragged her jeans off and pulled the sweats on. I got up and turned to the closet as she sat in silence. I pulled my shirt off of my head and went into the bathroom to wash my face. Looking in the mirror, I could that she was getting up, despite my intentions.

"Bones, sit back down. What do you need?"

She ignored my question but came closer to me, possessed by the sight of something that I couldn't see. She put her finger on my bare chest and drew it up to my upper torso. Her fingernail traced my scar, the scar from the shot that was supposed to be hers.

I swept away her veil of hair, transfigured by the scene. My hand quickly found her wound on the same position, which nearly ended her life. We stood there for minutes, possibly hours, tracing our scars and the stories that they held.

I put my finger on her chin and tilted her face so that she looked at me. "We're going to be okay," I whispered.

She nodded slightly and returned to the bed. I pulled a shirt over my head and joined her. I drew the blankets back and positioned Brennan so that my arms were around her as we slept. She was safe and sound, or so I hoped for the moment. She was oddly silent, but she dug her head into my chest, encouraging the touch.

So here's my advice: people are going to come into your life and make you regret. People will do whatever they can to make your life miserable because they've suffered for so long or just because they don't care anymore. And when they hurt someone you love, it's your choice how you react to it. How far are you willing to go? And during this process, you find out a little more about yourself. You figure out what's worth fighting for and what you should put up with just to prevent a battle.

Bones is asleep on my chest, her body rising and falling with every passing second. I can hear my daughter breathing from the monitor on the bedside table. My son is safe far away, but I know he wishes he was with me, which makes all the difference. When you realize what's worth fighting for, nothing can stand in your way. And when this beautiful phenomenon occurs to you, everything will disappear except for the things that matter most. And the world will turn right side up again.

_The __End_

* * *

**_I hope you enjoyed my story. It was a pleasure to write, and I can't believe that people actually took time to read it. I already know I've already made several mistakes while regarding the episode, such as the fight, etc. Personally, I think Wendell is Brennan's shooter, but I know that's a skeptical idea and I didn't want to go into that storyline. Honestly, I've thought he's been working with Pelant since like November, but he's such a lovable character that I really hope it doesn't happen and I'm incorrect. If I'm right, I'm officially a psychic (I'm totally kidding) and if I'm wrong, so be it. I don't know if/when I'll write another story, but don't hesitate to leave a review or prompt for me on this story. Thank you!_**


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